


Yes, Minister

by iamisaac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:46:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac





	Yes, Minister

_**Harry Potter [Kingsley/Draco] NC17**_  
Title: Yes, Minister  
Characters/Pairings: Kingsley/Draco  
Rating: NC17  
Kinks/Themes Included: toys, paddling, anal  
Other Warnings/Content: [none, sorry!]  
Word Count: ~1500  
Summary/Description:Prompt: After a rough day of Auror/other Ministry dept. training, Kingsley takes his star pupil aside for a private lesson.  
Author's Notes: (1)My beta is wonderful. I hope zie knows this.  
(2)For other political comedy geeks, yes the title is an intentional throw-back. Just try not to think of Draco as Nigel Hawthorne...  
(3) Giftee, I'm not sure I got as many of your kinks as I'd've liked, but this is the first time I've written this pairing, and I did my poor best :)  
  
  
  
Draco takes a deep breath and allows himself to relax for a second. He'd always known it was going to be tough doing Ministry training, especially when his (and his family's) spotty reputation would be used as a metaphorical stick to beat him with every time he did anything, be it good or bad. Especially when he'd been put on training with Weasley as a partner, because... well, putting a spell on your colleague is generally not seen as a fine move.  
  
“Draco. A word.”  
  
The rest of the team have left, but Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, places a firm hand on Draco's arm, preventing him from following them. Ah. His indiscretion hasn't gone unnoticed. He isn't sure whether he is glad or worried. Glad, however, seems to be winning the day.  
  
“Yes, Minister?”  
  
Some sticks are less metaphorical than others, Draco acknowledges, as Kingsley leads him into a private office. The desk has a large paddle on top of it. His heart thumps uncomfortably fast and hard. Does this mean what Draco hopes it means? Kingsley orders him to shrug off his robes, pull his pants off, and Draco obeys with more alacrity than he's shown towards any other instruction that day.  
  
“Stand by the desk,” Kingsley orders, picking up the paddle - and Draco is happy to oblige. “You know, in many ways you're my star pupil,” the Minister for Magic says conversationally.  
  
Draco, while somewhat surprised to hear this, is finding it hard to be conversational when Kingsley is standing over his naked arse with a paddle. Things are looking good, and Draco isn't sure whether the best policy is to agree or to try and taunt the Minister into action. Though Kingsley isn't easily upset...  
  
“Yes, Minister,” he says, choosing his role.  
  
“And then,” Kingsley says, picking up – picking _up_ \- the damned paddle, “you go and do something like you did today.”  
  
Draco thinks back over the 'test case scenario' they'd enacted earlier today. Probably hexing your own colleague is not seen as a good plan, even if it is Ron Weasley and he's been taunting you for weeks.  
  
“Sorry, Minister.”  
  
“You will be,” says Kingsley. “You will be. This,” he adds, swishing the paddle through the air over Draco's body, “will be a reminder.”  
  
Draco gasps. He can't help himself. His cock is standing to attention, making it quite clear that it is willing, indeed eager, for his 'reminder'.  
  
“Yes.” He doesn't manage the 'Minister' this time: even getting one word out is difficult enough. ('Hard' enough? No, that's his cock.)  
  
“Bend over my desk.”  
  
Draco knows that Kingsley knows that there's nothing Draco wants more to do than bend over the Minister of Magic's desk and take his punishment. Whatever punishment Kingsley sees fit. He leans forward, spreading his legs a little; knowing he's giving Kingsley the best view of his arse possible. The paddle. Damn it, when will Kingsley use the bloody paddle? Then Kingsley murmurs something, and Draco thinks it's now – now - until he feels the lubricated plug grazing against his anus, pushing into him millimetre by millimetre, so slowly it's almost torturous... so slowly, it's almost unbearably good. He can hear a low grunting noise; it takes a few seconds before he realises that he is the one making it.  
  
“Kingsl...” The paddle swishes down onto his arse, not brutally but enough to sting. “Minister!” he corrects himself.  
  
“Yes?” asks Kingsley, placing one cool hand across Draco's left arse cheek.  
  
Draco shudders at the touch. “Please,” he murmurs.  
  
Kingsley is leaning over him. “In the Ministry,” he says quietly in Draco's ear, “you protect each other, no matter what. You look out for each other. Everyone needs to know that their fellow Aurors are to be trusted. You do not, Draco Malfoy, hex your own colleagues. However tempting it may be. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Clearly,” says Kingsley (and Draco hears the 'whoosh' through the air a split-second before the paddle hits his arse again), “you do not understand well enough.”  
  
“No, Minister.”  
  
Draco shuts his eyes, waiting to hear the sound, feel the hot sting of the paddle. Nothing.  
  
“I beg your pardon?” Kingsley says politely.  
  
Draco screws his eyes up tighter. Apparently that's not all he's tightening, he realises, feeling the plug push deeper into his arse. He has no idea what he has said, nor what it was about.  
  
“I mean, yes, Minister,” he corrects himself.  
  
The paddle comes down once (left), twice (right), three times (central, hitting the base of the plug so that Draco has to bite his lip to stop himself screaming from pleasure). Kingsley's hand slides up his back, firm and cool and masterful. Merlin, Draco will do... will say... anything for someone who can make him feel like this.  
  
“Draco Malfoy, have you understood a word I've been saying?”  
  
Yes? No? Damn it, Draco could get so frustrated trying to work out Kingsley's rules.  
  
“Yes,” he says, sliding a hand between his own legs to fondle his cock. If Kingsley won't do it...  
  
“If I use the paddle there,” Kingsley drawls, “you may live to regret it.”  
  
It takes a second or two for Draco to realise what the Minister is talking about. When he does, however, his hand slides away as fast as it can. Paddling on the arse is one thing...  
  
“Sorry, Minister.”  
  
“Are you?” Kingsley's breath is warm against his ear as he leans down to whisper to Draco.  
  
There are lots of things Draco could say. Protest his innocence. Vow to make nice to Weasley as long as they both shall live. Promise not to touch his cock again ever in his life without the Minister's permission....  
  
“Please,” is what comes out.  
  
“My star pupil, Draco Malfoy,” Kingsley says, his voice quiet and seductive. “A star pupil shouldn't assault his own colleagues, now, should he?  
  
“Yes, Minister.” He means 'no', but when Kingsley is bending over him like this, he can't say anything but yes. Yes. _Yes_. **Yes**.  
  
“Yes, Draco?”  
  
“Ohhh, yes,” Draco sighs.  
  
“You mean,” Kingsley says politely, thumping the paddle down on his arse once – twice – three times, “no.”  
  
Draco can't think of any circumstances in which it would be a good idea to say no to Kingsley Shacklebolt.  
  
“Yes, Minister.”  
  
“'Yes', you mean 'no'?”  
  
“Yes,” Draco says desperately – meaning _Please, fuck me._  
  
Maybe he's said the words aloud, because Kingsley is laughing his deep, gorgeous laugh, and stroking – stroking, not slapping – his arse with the paddle as his other hand slides between Draco's buttocks to remove the plug.  
  
“Oh Merlin,” says Draco, fervently.  
  
“Kingsley,” the Minister corrects him, murmuring what is clearly a lubrication spell, as seconds later Draco feels a wonderfully slicked cock pushing against his hole.  
  
“Kingsley, Minister, Merlin...” Draco says, not really caring what words come _out_ right now, just so long as Kingsley comes _in_.  
  
And it is Kingsley's moment to say “Yes,” as he pushes inside his protegé, his fingers tangling in Draco's sweaty blond hair.  
  
Now Draco is past saying anything, as Kingsley thrusts in and out. Anything except “uuuuuh,” and “aaaaaaaah,” and – in a moment of coherence - “more”. Kingsley seems like he's finished talking in favour of action, because all Draco hears in return is heavy breathing and the odd murmur which sounds encouragingly like “Draco”. Draco comes first – without even touching his cock, and that should've been embarrassing, but this is Kingsley, this is the Minister of Magic fucking him over his own desk, and... Draco has no more room for thoughts as his cock twitches and spurts, sending his brain spinning into patterns of swirling dots and lines and colours...  
  
Then the Minister comes and fuck, Kingsley's cock is in Draco's arse, and Kingsley's cock seems to like it, and... Draco realises he's actually _crying_ and how much of a girl does that make him? But fuck. Kingsley. Fuck. Kingsley. Fuck, Kingsley's fucked him and... fuck.  
  
Kingsley, perhaps predictably, returns to the present quicker than Draco. He withdraws, casts a silent cleansing spell, takes hold of Draco's shoulder and turns him so that they are facing one another.  
  
“Do I make myself clear?” he asks.  
  
Draco watches, almost mesmerised, as a bead of sweat slides down Kingsley's forehead. This hint of humanity helps him to answer,  
  
“I'm not sure, Minister. You might have to tell me again.”


End file.
